


Six Different Fruits

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Series: Older Lads [2]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Older lads on their way to work. Set sometime after <i>Who Caught and Sang the Sun</i> and before <i>Two on a Treasure Island</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Different Fruits

“What the hell’s that?”

Doyle looked up from where he was settling himself at one end of a long, solidly wooden table, coat off, scarf in pocket, smoothie in front of him. His back was aching, there was a gaggle of young women with pushchairs heading their way, and he could really have done with another day off. Bloody Mondays…

Bodie was staring down at him incredulously. “I was only gone for two minutes!”

“Better than all that slop you call a coffee!”

“Nothing wrong with a pumpkin spiced latte,” Bodie sniffed, unbuttoning his own coat. “One of me five a day, that is. Whereas that…”

Doyle’s drink sat firmly on the table, plastic cup and lid, lightly striped straw, all the vitamins he was going to need to face the day, and an unremittingly lurid pink.

“Six different fruits,” Doyle said. “Do the maths. Go on - ‘ave a bit. Give your arteries a treat.”

Bodie eyed it dubiously. “You want me to drink that!”

“It’s not going to kill you. Go on, I’ve seen you making carrot juice of a morning, you’re not fooling anyone…”

“Only so I can use your 500 horsepower supercharged turbo blender. Can do ninety in a thirty mile speed limit on that.” Bodie grinned. “Gets you out of bed, anyway.”

“Yeah - I’ve gotta come down and make sure you’re not slipping the clutch!”

Bodie shook his head and took a mouthful of his own coffee, then started pulling the paper from his muffin. His hair shone dark silver in the café lights, his shoulders were still broad and muscled, and the table of young mothers behind him were clearly appreciating their view of his back in its snugly fitting black poloneck. Doyle stared grimly at them for a moment - _mine!_ \- and one of their infants burst into tears.

“What’ve we got on today then?” Bodie asked, grimacing at the thin, wailing noise.

“Kenning at ten,” Doyle said gloomily, “Gotta let him know we’re sending the M-598s back - he’s not going to like it…” He let their talk flow into work, into their world, his and Bodie’s, picking now and then at the crumbs on Bodie’s plate, ignoring Bodie’s raised eyebrow as he did.

“Get your own!” Bodie said at last, beating him to a final fallen nut. He gestured at the smoothie. “You not going to drink that? Gonna need the energy, you know…”

The mothers were eyeing him again, Doyle saw, and another nearby table full of women scribbling away in notebooks and on napkins kept shooting him slanted glances. Bodie was happily oblivious, it was Doyle he was watching, Doyle whose leg was close enough to brush against his under the table. _Mine_ , Doyle thought again.

He glanced down at his drink. “Go on, taste it,” he said. “I’m waiting for you to prove you’re man enough to sit in a public place and…”

“It’s pink!”

“I’ve seen you drink worse - all those cocktail umbrellas…”

“Give it here then,” Bodie held out a hand at last, and Doyle put the cup straight into it, letting their fingers lie together around the plastic for just a moment, for just long enough. 

Bodie took a sip, mouth tightening at the tart-sweetness of it. “What the hell _is_ it?” he asked again.

“Six different fruits,” Doyle repeated, “Apple, raspberry, pomegranate...” He lapsed into silence, watching Bodie’s lips around the straw as he took another sip, and then as he sat back and licked them around with his tongue, passing the cup back. 

“I’ll stick to a proper breakfast full of caffeine and sugar, thanks,” he said. “Are we going to…?” He was off again, caught tightly in their world of guns and targets and agent trials, talking shop before they’d even got there for the morning, the whole working day before them, CI5 awaiting their orders. London bustled around them, Christmas music blaring from speakers, the café filling slowly with early-morning shoppers and tourists, with commuters just like them, a thousand thousand people all around, to be kept safe from everything they didn’t even know existed. 

Doyle listened, nodded, put the straw to his mouth and let his lips rest where Bodie’s had been. It was going to be a good day.

 

_6th December 2012_


End file.
